I still find myself with a heavy chest a few minutes into practicing. I still feel like I’m going to cry. I’m still looking at my left hand struggling along, and wondering if I’ll ever get it to work like it will need to if I’m going to play this thing.
I’ve started being softer with my reactions. Gentler with my self-talk. More patient with how my hand does and does not work. I’m thinking of it as an awkward fledgling bird, hopping and flapping unevenly and ungainly and not sure what goes where when. This is creative play. I have nothing to prove here. There’s no ego in it. No one is watching how ridiculously hilarious the whole process is, except me.
It’s OK, fledgling hand. We’ll get there. And if we don’t, that’s OK, too. I’m learning to be gentle with myself.
Hardly birdsong, but I am improving.